


Prayers to the Maker (Often Go Unanswered)

by Darkarashi



Category: Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Cursing Kink, Desk Sex, Dirty Talk, F/M, Face-Fucking, Masturbation, Mouth Kink, One Shot, Oral Fixation, Under-Desk Blow Jobs
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-03-10
Updated: 2015-03-10
Packaged: 2018-03-17 03:46:12
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,804
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3514160
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Darkarashi/pseuds/Darkarashi
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Cullen has a problem. That problem is Kydæn Lavellan's mouth. Her lips, especially. </p><p>She bites her lip, tugs on them when she's consumed with thought, worries the chapped edges with her tongue, and he can't focus. At all. On anything except her. And her lips. And her mouth. And what it would be like to taste her. </p><p>Maker, he just wants a few moments of peace from the thoughts that plague him about the Herald.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Prayers to the Maker (Often Go Unanswered)

_It_ started when he was given watch over her after she had staggered out of the Breach.

Her body was beaten, bloodied, and even after the healers had bathed her and tended to the multitude of wounds across her body, she lay, pale and wan, in the bed they had cobbled together for her in the cells beneath the Chantry. He knew she was a mage – his Templar training would not let him miss that. He knew many things about her, but not enough.

She slept fitfully the first few hours, muttering Dalish and Marcher curses beneath her breath, her mouth moving around words unlike any he had ever heard. There was a deep split down the center of her bottom lip, deep enough that the healers had tutted over it, but not so deep that they had made an attempt to stitch the wound closed. There were precious few supplies already, and without knowledge of who she was and what she had done, it was not wise to waste too much on her. It was a cosmetic wound, nothing more. 

He did not mean to stare. He was keeping watch, so a certain amount of looking at her was necessary. But the way he found himself staring at her mouth was definitely improper.

When her lips twitched over words, the split would spill fresh blood across her face, leaving scarlet streaks across death-pale skin.

Cullen swallowed his hesitation and reached out to take a clean cloth from the bedside desk and gently wipe her cheek and chin clean of blood. For a brief moment, her tongue flicked out from between her lips to chase the moisture the cloth had left behind. The battered woman sighed, her lips parted and Cullen’s breath stuck in his throat.

Cassandra could not come to relieve him fast enough.

Maker, protect him from this woman.

* * *

Oh, he had hoped that small, momentary obsession would not bloom into something more.

But when he saw _her_ standing at the War Table, her recently-healed lip firmly held between her teeth and her arms crossed, he reached for the hilt of his sword and grabbed a hold of it to keep himself still. He walked as slowly as he could to the opposite side of the Table, intending to stand to the side, but Josephine had taken one side of the table, and Leliana was behind him, with intent on the other side, and there was no way for him to edge away from her without making it obvious.

So he stood, hands tight on the hilt of his sword as the _Herald_ made her first tentative steps as a member of this Inner Circle, her lip firmly between her teeth.

Her name was Kydæn. She was a Dalish Mage, the First of her Clan. Her voice was soft, soothing, and she had the nastiest habit of worrying her lip between her teeth as she considered things. If she was not actually biting her lip, she was pulling on it with her fingers, or licking it with her tongue. Never so hard as to actually chap her lips, mind you.

The fact that he knew all of this about her made Cullen sigh in defeat at the next meeting, and the next, and every meeting they called to discuss what they should do.

Kydæn was smart, unnervingly so. Beautiful, as the elves were, small and slender of wrist and waist, but there was an undeniable strength to how she chose to hold herself. She was astute and accurate in her observations, but never spoke out of turn. She allowed all who spoke to finish speaking before she would continue, and her mouth moved in such beautiful patterns as she spoke Common that Cullen sometimes had to nod in agreement with her to cover the fact that he had no idea what she had just said.

No one seemed to notice, not even Cassandra who was usually so very attuned to him. No one noticed how he would look down at the map and then look up at her without moving his head. No one noticed how he was absolutely consumed with watching how her mouth moved around words, how she would pause to listen, her mouth hanging open, or pressed shut. No one noticed her lips the way he did and, _oh_ , he should not be thinking of the Herald like this.

Maker, she was the _Herald_.

* * *

The first time he saw her eat he realized his idle fascination had gone, perhaps, too far. It was late, late in the evening, and he was preparing to trudge back to his cold, thin cot when he heard her laugh. It was, like everything else about her, entrancing. He knew it was her, and turned his head to see if he could figure out where she was.

His gaze was drawn to the fire where Varric constantly stood, and there, he saw Varric and Kydæn sitting shoulder to shoulder, embroiled in discussion. Kydæn had a plate of skewered, marinated meats and vegetables balanced on her knees, and lifted a hand in greeting when she saw Cullen. Her lips broadened into a wide smile around his name.

“Hey Curly, come sit with us! Lippy here was just starting to regale me with some stories from her time with her clan. She brought some traditional Dalish prepared meats, too!”

Kydæn smiled broadly, and picked up a skewer off the plate as a demonstration and offering. Cullen opened his mouth to reply, to give a polite declination because there was no way that sitting with them was a good idea, but she had her mouth open first, and while maintaining eye contact , her head dipped down and her mouth covered the first piece of meat on the skewer. 

Cullen’s eyes felt like they were bugging straight out of his head and he had to turn very sharply on his heel and walk _very_ quickly away from her or he was going to have problems explaining himself to Cassandra about why he had grabbed the Herald around the waist and pinned her to the nearest flat, somewhat horizontal surface before ravaging her as only a desperately aroused man could.

Later, he realized that he had just walked away without saying anything, and covered his face in embarrassment.

Maker, this was getting ridiculous.

* * *

“Ah, Herald, hello.”

“Commander, I have a matter to discuss with you. In private, if you please.”

Kydæn spoke as soft as she ever did, her voice lost to the clatter of swords. Cullen had to swallow the memories of just what he had been doing in _private_ in order to try and keep things civil between him and the Herald. The Chantry would never approve of his…activities, but he belonged to this rabble now, not the Chantry.

“I, uh, of course, Herald. Thi-this way, if you please.”

Damn his stammer and its constant reappearance at the worst times. He gestured for her to walk with him, away from where he was supervising the training of the newest recruits. She followed his lead, walking along silently next to him as they drew away from Haven proper, onto one of the many paths that surrounded the old pilgrimage retreat. Kydæn was quiet for a long time, not speaking up until she was certain that those behind them could neither see, nor hear what was going to be said.

“Commander, have I offered you insult?” she finally said, stopping and turning to face him.

She did nothing so crass as to cross her arms or put her hands on her hips, but she looked up at him with a challenge in her eye. His eyes dropped to her mouth, and watched, entranced, as her lips moved into a small frown.

“W-what?”

“Have I offered you insult? I have been thinking over what I have said in the past to you, but have found nothing in my words that I could consider hurtful. We have disagreed, yes, but I had not thought our disagreements had been so upsetting to you for our relationship to be so strained. I am not, however, full aware of all the phrases that upset humans. I have not had much dealing with your race before the Conclave, and I was forced to consider that perhaps I had insulted you in some manner that I did not intend to.”

“Maker, _no_ , you haven’t – I didn’t mean to, I mean, I don’t know how you, or why you would think that, Herald. I have nothing but respect for you.”

 _But your lips drive me to constant distraction_.

“I…see. Perhaps I misread, then. You never seem to listen to what I am saying, nor do you meet my gaze. I had thought, initially, that I had given you some small slight and had looked to Varric for help in the matter. I had made you food, as is normal for apologies in my clan, and you…declined to eat with me. Or speak to me. I must have, hum…”

Her words were merely thought spoken aloud, and Cullen watched as she turned her inspection inwards, focusing on her own actions and how they could have affected him. Again, she started worrying her lip between her teeth. He was thankful that he could blame any flush on his cheek for the sudden wind that whipped down from the frozen mountains that surrounded Haven.

“I assure you, Kydæn, I would come to you if I was ever insulted or upset by your actions. But I have yet to be. I apologize for causing you to feel as if I was upset by you.”

She turned to him, and smiled. Kydæn’s smile was the sort that made you smile with her. Her smile was a true expression of joy and exultation, and Cullen had to steel himself with every last iota of strength in his body to keep from disgracing himself with her right then. The wind whipped her dark hair around her face, and her pale green eyes stared up at him, crinkled at the edges around her grin.

“No need for apologies! I was simply trying to make certain I had not upset my favorite Commander by acting out of turn. Humans are hard to understand. Thank you for taking the time to talk with me, Commander. If you are agreeable, I would like the chance to talk with you more often, outside of the War Room. I feel as if this could have been avoided if we talked more often.”

“I, ah, would like that, Kydæn.”

She smiled again, broad and beguiling, and Cullen swallowed the sudden lump in his throat.

Maker, he was in _trouble_.

* * *

For the next few weeks, Kydæn made good on her promise to come talk to him more often. She would stand, unobtrusive and out of the way, and talk with him around the constant influx of reports that were handed to him. She made light of the situation at the Conclave, laughing and joking about it all when he asked, as if she had no care for what was going on. He knew it to be the same sort of coping mechanism he utilized himself, from time to time. That was not surprising, to him. She had a glowing green hand and had been the lone survivor of a cataclysmic event. That manner of thing wore on someone’s heart.

No, what _surprised_ him were her not-at-all subtle flirtations. At first, he thought he had been misreading what she meant. As Kydæn herself had pointed out, they were from two drastically different backgrounds, and their cultures were not at all miscible.

But when she had asked him about Templars making vows of chastity, and then _licked her Maker-damned lips_ when he said that no, he had taken no such vows, he realized that he had not been imagining anything. Kydæn was interested in him. Very interested in him. The Dalish Mage, the Herald of Andraste who did not believe in Andraste, was standing not more than three feet from him, her tongue pressed against her lower lip, and her eyes sparkling with all sorts of lewd promise.

He had no idea what to say to that. And even if he had, he was too busy staring at her lips to formulate a response that was not some stammering mess of words that could have otherwise been very nice.

When he had retired to his bed that evening, he tried to blot out the thought her lips with the Chant, but the Chant of Light was unhelpful. His mind could only recall the most lascivious of lines, and it did not help that he kept thinking about how her tongue had pushed on her lip, and then of how – how –

Oh, Andraste save him, he was fantasizing about _her_ Herald. Again. Fantasizing about what it would feel like to feel her lips press against his own, to have her tongue against his flesh, to watch her lips wrap around his cock, or part in pleasure as he fucked her. He wanted to feel her suckle on his fingers, wanted to feed her all the best food just to watch her eat it.

He hated the thoughts as much as he craved them. It was improper to think of the Herald – to think of _Kyd_ _æn_ this way, but there he was, one hand wrapped around his cock, his mind filled with filthy thoughts about what it would be like to have Kydæn. He knew the thoughts were crass, and crude, and utterly unbefitting of his position working with her, but she drove him to absolute distraction and this was the only way he could think of that could possibly allay the thoughts.

He licked _his_ lips, feeling the scar that jutted upwards from his own lip and wondering what it would feel like if he was to press his mouth to hers. Cullen kept his eyes screwed shut and fumbled for the small vial of lube one of his recruits had thrown at him with a crass suggestion to use it to get the stick out of his ass. Said recruit was still on short rations and latrine duty, but Cullen was privately pleased with his decision to keep that fucking vial within reach.

His hands trembled as he slicked his palm and prick with the lube and went right back to thinking what it would look like to have ~~Kyd~~ ~~æn’s~~ _a_ mouth wrapped around his achingly hard prick instead. That scar from when she had had her lip split after the explosion at the Conclave, barely visible anymore, he wanted to split it back open around his cock. He wanted to feel her lips on his skin, he wanted to drown in the sensation of her mouth on him.

He worked his cock furiously with equal parts need and shame about what he was doing. Even if she denied the moniker, she was the Herald of Andraste and he was her Commander, and he was in his bed, frantically working his hand over his prick while he thought about what she would look like with her mouth spread open in pleasure, or how it would feel to have her lips pressed behind his ear as he thrust up into her cunt. It was his fantasy, he could pretend that Kydæn knew all the spots that made him tremble.

Kydæn-of-his-mind whispered filthy things to him that the real Kydæn would never say (he had never even heard her come _close_ to cursing, so it was pure fantasy that had her whispering sinful nothings into his ear), her mouth pressing to his neck, his cheek, his jaw, his mouth in turn, and when she pulled away, her lips were plump and flushed from – from – from –

Cullen came with a sharp grunt, his cum liberally painting his stomach and chest. He exhaled shakily, cleaning himself off, trying to deny the hot blushing of shame that settled on his skin. It was the only time he was ever going to do that. He was not going to put his hand on himself and drive himself to pleasure with thoughts of her, not ever again.

Oh, Maker, he wished that was true.

* * *

“You fuckers take _one_ more step towards Haven and I will see to it that you are ripped to bloody shreds!”

Cullen looked up from the recruit he was helping into the back of the Chantry, searching for the person who was screeching such obscenities in the sacred space. Haven was under attack, there was screaming and crying and wailing everywhere as an army unlike any they had ever seen came to attack them in their home. The last few days had been a whirlwind. Kydæn had gone to Redcliffe, saved the mages, walked back with a weary and war-torn collegiate of mages, and they had closed the Breach and thought they could rest easy for a few days. But now there was war on their doorstep.

“Lippy, come on now.”

Varric’s nickname for the Herald became much clearer as the dwarf tried to calm her down. It had not been a comment on the fact that she had full, luscious, beautiful, plump, biteable, kissable lips. No, it had been ostensibly for her proclivity for cursing as soon as her blood was even the slightest bit roused.

“No, _fuck_ this! Come on you pansy-ass cowards! I have pikes a-plenty and I am going to mount your fucking heads on them all! You’ll watch over the trees of my people you’ve killed and I’ll make sure you never know peace! Rot in the Veil!”

The Iron Bull, a Qunari mercenary that Kydæn had somehow managed to convince to join their ranks, bulled through the door of the Chantry, carrying the Herald of Andraste over one shoulder. Magic snapped in the air around her as she cursed up a bloody storm. She kicked ineffectively against Bull’s grip on her waist, throwing magic with her free arm back out the door, to the amusement of most of her companions. Cullen just stared as the door to the Chantry was barred behind her and Kydæn was set down on her own two feet. She turned on Bull, scolding him despite not even coming up to his shoulder. 

“That was some Creators-damned bull _shit_ Bull and you fucking know it. We could have fought more of them off. There was no godsdamned reason to abandon the rest of our assets out there. There are fucking catapults out there. We could’ve done something more with them.”

“They have a archdemon, Boss.”

“ **FUCK** the archdemon, Bull!”

The Qunari chuckled and clapped a huge hand on Kydæn’s shoulder. She did not crumple to the ground beneath the weight of the mercenary’s gesture, merely glared up at him, her lip curled back in a sneer.

“Another time, Boss.”

She snarled, and shook her head.

“We could have done better. _I_ could have done better.”

“We did what we could.”

Kydæn sighed and reached up to run a hand through her blood-streaked hair. She closed her eyes, turned her head away from the survivors who would, in short order, be looking to her for answers about what they should do next, and exhaled slowly. Her shoulders relaxed, and the furrow between her brows faded. Just like that, Kydæn was calm, and the storm beneath her skin faded. Cullen was hopelessly entranced, and that did not make it any easier to say what would need to come next.

Roderick told them of a way to safety. Cullen rallied the men around the idea, giving Kydæn the needed backing to make a choice knowing that she still had the support of the people she had been protecting and leading as the Herald for so long. These men were soldiers, and winning over the soldiers was vital to winning over the rest of the assembled – the mages, the Chantry sisters, anyone who had joined their venture, which Kydæn needed to happen. She needed the support of everyone behind her because they were going to ask her to do something impossible. Again.

Cullen looked at Kydæn, knowing she would make the decision that was the best for all present. She bit her lip, closed her eyes, and even his soft consolation could not bring a smile to her face.

“Thank you, Commander.”

Maker, let her come back alive.

* * *

He found her, shivering and stumbling in the snowstorm. She looked up at him through blood-stained and ice-crusted lashes. Her lips were torn to shreds, as was the rest of her, and when he caught her weight, he realized how small the Herald actually was. Cullen hefted her in his arms, and she curled into his heat, burying her face in his neck, trying to seek shelter from the cold. He pulled his fur pauldrons higher, trying to cover as much of her head, neck and shoulders with the meager warmth the furs offered in such inclement weather.

“I got you, Kydæn,” he shouted above the storm, the wind whipping his words down into a whisper.

“Thank you, Cullen,” she whispered back. He ignored the fact it was the first time she had called him by his given name, even as his heart gave an uneven beat in his chest.

Her lips were pressed to his ear, dripping cold blood down the side of his face and neck. He felt her words more than heard them and thanked the Maker for bringing her back. She clung to him, shivering in his arms, her mouth moving around words he could not catch over the wind that whipped around the both of them.

She had her hands buried in his hair, trying vainly to pull herself closer to the only part of him that could actually impart warmth to her. Cullen did his best to hold her so that she did not have to work so hard. It was not much further to the camp the survivors had set up as the search parties spread out to try and find the Hera…to find Kydæn. He had her safe in his arms, and she was pressing her mouth against his neck and praying for survival still.

Maker, he prayed too, Maker protect her from this ever happening again.

* * *

Skyhold had been made something of a home, something for the new Inquisition to occupy while they got their true feet beneath them. Kydæn recovered from her ordeal in the snow, and began preparations for their next step against Corypheus, which was to stop the Empress from being assassinated.

The Ball at the Winter Palace went as well as it possibly could have. He stood, awkwardly throughout the majority of the dance, deflecting proposals left and right, nervously trying to keep from committing any sort of faux pas and upsetting Josephine. When Kydæn came to talk to him, he had to bite the inside of his cheek to keep from saying something disgraceful.

Even though she had to wear the uniform that Josephine had selected for everyone, she had accented her beauty with deep, dark lipstick and a gem pressed into the center of her lower lip. Cullen watched her approach him and pretended that he wasn’t. He pretended he did not watch how she smiled, or how her makeup made her sparse facial tattoos stand out all the more. He did not want to admit how his heart stuttered when he saw her look up at him and smile.

She came close, smiling at him, and he swallowed the knot in his throat.

“Care for a dance, Commander?”

He had to decline. He could not look at her like this and dance with her. He declined as graciously as he could, trying not to stare at her lips. If his stupid infatuation with her lips was not bad enough already, now he could not shake the images in his head of her lips pressed to his skin, leaving deep, dark wine-colored marks in her passing. Oh, oh _Maker_ , his mind ran with the thought, leaving him blushing and breathless when she finally left.

The rest of the night went by in a blur until he was walking out onto the balcony to talk wither her. Her pretty lipstick was smeared, and the gem that had sat nestled in the very center of her lip was missing, but he still could not think of anything other than making her smile again.

He offered her the dance he had been too cowardly to accept before and when she smiled around his name and took his hand, he tried very hard not stammer.

Maker, save him, he craved a kiss.

* * *

The first time they kissed…

Kydæn often came to visit him as he worked, talking him through his lyrium withdrawals, comforting him when he could still see blood-stained bandages peeking out from beneath the hem of her long sleeves. He found himself waiting for her to come back to him after every mission, her laughter bright and bell-clear as soon as she got back to Skyhold from a mission out to goodness knows where.

Kydæn would bring him baubles, small things she saw that were interesting while she was out and exploring, passing them into his hands and then agilely stepping away when he tried to give them back. Interesting crystals, pressed flowers and leaves and once, a five-leafed clover, all of them now nestled in the cabinet that used to have his lyrium kit hidden away in it.

So when Kydæn edged into his office, clearly nervous about something – her lip was nearly gnawed to being chapped, and her hands kept fluttering up to her mouth, as if to pick at her lips, before she would notice the movement and force her hand back down.

“Inquisitor?”

“Commander, may we have a word…in private?”

He blinked. The last in-private conversation he had with her at her request had been because she thought he was angry with her, but he could not think of what had brought this on.

“Of course, Kydæn.”

They walked on the ramparts in silence for a long while, Kydæn clearly disturbed about something, her lip still between her teeth.

“It’s a…lovely day, today.”

“W-what? Oh! Yes. It is.”

There was silence for a while longer until Cullen sighed and turned to face her. Kydæn, startled, mirrored his movement, staring up at him, with her mouth hanging open.

“You wanted to talk about something?”

“I, uh…Cullen, I care about you. A lot. I don’t know how the human courtship goes, but I have run out of gifts I can think to give you. Could you – _do_ you think of me as anything other than the Inquisitor?”

It took him precious long moments to find his words, and in that time, Kydæn had backed up against one of the broken parapets, nearly sitting on her hands. He turned to her, stepping closer, searching for the words that he had rehearsed a thousand times in his head as he had fisted his prick in his hand.

“I – I – _yes_. I could. I do. I had thought it impossible that you…that we could-”

She leaned up against him, tilting her head to make it more obvious what she wanted from him. Arousal seared his bones and roared victory for all of his wild fantasies as he stilled his stumbling tongue in anticipation of finally, finally, _finally_ knowing what her lips truly tasted like.

“Commander!”

Kydæn was the one who drew away, startled by the intrusion. Cullen looked at her, and then turned on the messenger.

“I have Sister Leliana’s report. You said you wanted it, ‘immediately’, ser!”

“What,” Cullen snapped, his anger at being denied what he _wanted_ frosting his voice with malice.

The page looked up, saw Cullen, looked back over Cullen’s shoulder to where Kydæn stood, pointedly not making eye contact and blushing furiously before backing away with a mumbled apology and revised plan about where, exactly, that report should go. As soon as Cullen was assured that the page was gone, and they were alone once again, he spun on Kydæn, reaching for her and hungrily pulling her into a kiss that he hoped scorched her as deeply as it did him.

She responded lustfully, reaching up to bury her hands in his hair and pull him closer to her when he started to draw away. Kydæn snarled at him, actually _snarled_ at him when he tried to pull away from her, nipping at his lip and pulling him back into the kiss. He wanted to object – they were in full view of everyone in the courtyard of Skyhold and it was by no means appropriate for him to be snogging the Inquisitor on the battlements, but then she was whispering his name against his lips and rocking her hips against his to chase the friction of his body against hers and nothing mattered. Let everyone in Skyhold see that he finally had Kydæn’s mouth on him and was never going to let her go.

Maker, he did not want to stop this.

* * *

The first time they had sex, he had thrown her on his desk and fucked her, happy she had survived Adamant, overjoyed that she had walked the Fade and come out unchanged, unscathed any more than normal, and still wanted him. She wanted him and let him know that - because when he finally slid into her, she let loose with a string of explicatives so vehement that it made his ears burn to think about even now as he sat at his desk, facing down piles and piles of paperwork with his mind searching for anything at all to occupy itself.

Of course, his mind immediately turned to all the things he _wanted_ to do with Kydæn and had yet to bring up with her. Because he wasn’t certain how to broach that particular topic when they had only had…relations three times since that first time, and around their busy schedules, there was not much time for anything other than breathlessly fast trysts that were unsatisfying. He wanted to spend the night with her again, like they had done that first time, but there was never time, and it was never appropriate.

“You’re certainly lost in thought, Cullen.”

Startled, he looked up, only to see Kydæn smirking at him from the other side of his desk. She was wearing her casual attire, pale leather clinging to her body, leaving nothing – absolutely nothing hidden about her form. He watched, transfixed as she sauntered towards him, her fingers already working the clasps of her top free.

“Kydæn…what are you-”

She straddled his lap in his chair, perching herself neatly in between his chest and his desk. Cullen flushed and looked to the three (there were _three doors that were not locked_ ) doors that lead into his office, took a shaking breath and prepared to ask his girlfriend to _please_ get off his lap because anyone could come in, but she smirked and pre-empted his asking by leaning down to kiss just behind his ear.

Kydæn was a damned good fighter and knew a weak spot when she found one, and she had found that one that first time on the desk. Cullen trembled beneath the kiss, reveling in the feeling of her mouth against that **spot** on his neck, and his words failed him completely.

“Did you think that I wouldn’t eventually notice, Cullen?”

He froze.

“The way you stare at my fuckin’ lips, my heart. It makes so much sense. I didn’t see it before. But I do now.”

Cullen swallowed, reaching for her hips, trying to dislodge her half-heartedly. Kydæn rocked with the movement, maintaining her position on his lap. She pulled away just far enough to look Cullen in the eye. She buried her hands in his hair, pulling lightly until he looked up at her. She smiled at him, rubbing circles on the back of his neck.

“I mean, Varric and Cole helped me realize it. But it makes sense. So much sense, Cullen.”

Kydæn ground her hips down on his lap, and Cullen grit his teeth against a traitorous moan. She shook her head, smirking before she was biting his lip, tugging on it until he was gasping into her mouth. She kissed him, pulling him up by the back of his skull, her tongue pressing up against his. His whimper was swallowed by her eager mouth.

“Maker, Kydæn, we have to stop. Someone could come in a-a-and _oh Maker_ ,” he mumbled against her lips as her hands slid down his front to start undoing the laces on his breeches.

“Tell me to stop. Tell me no, and I will stop, I promise, vhenan.”

He tensed, and she kissed him, licked her lips and kissed him again. Cullen valiantly tried to restate his argument, to move her from his lap because while that was really nice, Kydæn, Kydæn please that feels wonderful but they could see, anyone could come in and _see_ , please Kydæn we should stop, oh please Kydæn don’t stop doing that, your mouth, Kydæn, Kydæn _please,_ your **mouth** please, I need it, Maker yes, need it, please.

She was sliding out of his lap, her lips twisted into a devious grin. He almost – _almost_ begged for her to come back, but then she was curling herself underneath his desk, still grinning and mouthing something filthy. Oh, Maker, she was not going to!

Kydæn pulled his chair back into place, dragging Cullen along with it, until he was seated almost exactly as he usually was. Except, this time, there was a Kydæn beneath his desk, her fingers working the laces she had started undoing completely free. He felt the drag of her petite fingers across his prick, and despite the jerk of his hips, and the way he gasped her name, he still tried to dissuade her fingers from their devious work, doing ineffective battle with her far more dexterous fingers.

One of the doors opened and he jerked his attention to the messenger. Usually, he would rise to meet someone, but his prick was out beneath the desk and the _Inquisitor_ was wrapping her hand around his throbbing length, so he remained seated and held his hand out for the report, shifting his torso closer to the lip of his desk so there would be no chance for the messenger to see what was hiding beneath Cullen’s desk.

He handled business as best he could, trying to ignore the very distracting feeling of Kydæn’s fingers slowly dragging up and down his cock in favor of doing his job.

“Thank you, ser. I will take this to Leliana immediately.”

Cullen nodded, and sat tense while he waited for the messenger to leave. The thrill of not being caught had his heart pounding with new ideas, no matter the fact that there was still the risk of someone else coming in at any moment. His hands clenched into fists as he contemplated asking. Kydæn could always say no. She was already halfway where he wanted her, what was just a little more? He could ask. Nothing was wrong with asking. How did he phrase it?

“Kydæn, I want…”

“Tell me what you want me to do to you, Cullen. I want to be good for you. I want to please you, I want to make your toes _curl_. I bet you already have a hard time looking at this desk, don’t you.”

Her disembodied voice was far more sensual than it had any right to be. Her fingers still stroked him, one hand on his prick and the other massaging his inner thigh through the rest of his clothing.

“Y-yes.”

“You remember throwing me down on it? Sweeping all that fucking paperwork out of the way and frigging your girlfriend right where the Inquisition’s War is commanded from. You made me scream your name, remember? Remember how wet and open I was for you? How it felt to finally fucking sink into me after all that ridiculous eye-fucking you had been doing when you thought I wasn’t looking? Did you ever manage to get that comestain out of the leather of your writing pad?”

“N-nn…no.”

Maker, the drag of her fingers against him never stopped. The hand on his thigh vanished, and for a moment, he thought it blessed reprieve, until he heard a second sound, softer than the rustle of her clothing as she pumped her hand over his prick. Oh, he knew that sound. He had heard it the third time they had fucked – when he had come up the ladder to his room, exhausted after a day of training to see Kydæn naked and spread out on his sheets, the fingers of one of her hands already working in and out of her dripping cunt while the other toyed idly with a nipple. They had only a few hours before she had to go to a meeting and he was expected to train some new recruits but, oh, those hours were amazing. But he knew that sound, and when her second hand returned to touching his prick, he could feel the slickness of her arousal aiding her dastardly work.

“So you just covered it up, didn’t you? Is that why you have my crystals on display? You wanted to cover up that spot so you didn’t have to sit at your desk and do paperwork and stare at the place where I dripped out your cum onto your desk. So fucking _nasty_ , Commander. I didn’t think my heart had it in him.”

His hips jumped again and he _heard_ her chuckle darkly. Maker’s breath, how the fuck did they end up here?

“I think just about the only thing that could surprise me right now about my _filthy_ Commander would be if he ordered me to suck him off under his desk. Wrap my pretty little lips around his big, _throbbing_ cock and let him fuck my mouth while he did his work. Do you think he would like that? Knowing that I’m making an awful drippy mess of the stone beneath me because I’m just so very desperate to have his cock in me. Anywhere in me.”

Cullen tried to make a response. Really, truly, he did, but the odd reverberation from where Kydæn was hiding beneath his desk robbed him of words.

“What do you want, Cullen? Tell me, vhenan. I ache to have you. Tell me what you want me to do with my pretty mouth.”

He could _feel_ her breath on his cock. She was so close to where he wanted her to be. He wanted her mouth on his cock and could think of nothing else now that she had broached the topic. Let others come in. Let the whole damned Inquisition come through the doors. Kydæn was beneath his desk, her mouth the merest of inches from where it should be. All of his illicit fantasies, all of the nights spent with his prick hot and heavy in his hand and the thoughts of Kydæn on her knees before that throne she sat in when she gave judgment, her hands bound behind her back and his cock halfway down her throat and every filthy thought that had filled his dreams – none of them compared to the reality. He burned for this.

“Kydæn, I _need_ – buggering fuck!”

He had not even been able to get through the entirety of his request before Kydæn had pulled his cock into her mouth and sucked him all the way down, her nose brushing the golden curls at the base of his cock. Cullen had to force himself to stay still, even as she licked and sucked at his prick and cupped his balls in her hand. How there was enough space beneath his desk to allow for Kydæn to have enough room to move with all of the fervor she was moving, he did not know, but fucking Void was he enjoying it.

The door opened, and another messenger came in brandishing a report that “needed his attention, immediately, ser!”

Kydæn did not stop her movements for a second, somehow muffling herself so that the messenger could not hear the sloppy sounds of her impaling her pretty mouth on his cock, which left Cullen in the unenviable position of trying to conduct business as Kydæn did her very fucking best to make him lose his control with her mouth and hands.

If he was a little more snappish than he usually was, it was because focusing on what this messenger was saying was keeping him from his pleasure. The messenger misinterpreted his snarling for something else entirely and manufactured reasons to remain longer than was necessary, undoubtedly to try and ascertain if he was going through withdrawals again, which only made Cullen all the more angry with the messenger’s continued existence in his office.

Because Kydæn was doing everything in her power to suck his very soul out through his prick beneath his desk and it was very hard to keep a veneer of professionalism when the _Inquisitor_ was beneath his desk, fraying every shred of decency he had tried to maintain throughout this ordeal. The messenger finally left and as soon as the door clicked closed, he was pulling Kydæn off his prick and pushing his chair back and away from the desk.

Her eyes were more black than green, glazed over with hazy lust. Her lips were plump, flushed with blood as were her cheeks, and her mouth hung slack.

“Lock the doors, I know you can,” he growled, pulling her back into the position she had been in before – between his legs, with her mouth **almost** on his cock.

He did not want to come without seeing her pretty lips wrapped around his cock. Cullen grinned as he heard all of the deadbolts slide home simultaneously. His girlfriend, his lover, his Kydæn was so _good_.

Precum leaked steadily from his cock and Kydæn watched hungrily, her gaze flicking between Cullen’s golden eyes and his weeping prick. He watched her lick her lips, a whispered curse falling from his mouth. His hands shook when he reached to brush her hair back behind her ear. When Cullen gave the barest of nods, Kydæn looked at him with something damn near close to worship and reached for his cock again, enveloping it in the wet, delicious heat of her mouth.

This may not be the Throne of the Inquisitor, but there was no better place in all of Thedas to be than right. Fucking. Here. With Kydæn’s head bobbing up and down on his prick.

“Yessssss,” he hissed, his head dropping back against the high back of the only chair in his office.

Cullen tangled his hands in her hair, pulling on the dark strands hard enough to make Kydæn whimper as she continued working him closer and closer and closer to the edge. She only pulled her head up when he forced her to, using one of his hands to push her mouth up his cock until he was finally freed from her mouth again.

She looked at him, lost and confused, her eyes not completely focusing on him. Kydæn licked her lips absently and Cullen’s hips gave an involuntary jerk up, his cock bouncing against her lips and chin. Kydæn opened her mouth absentmindedly, trying to catch his cock in her mouth, but Cullen was careful to keep from succumbing to the urge to have her mouth wrapped around him again.

“Kydæn, for the longest fucking time I’ve want to fuck your mouth and-”

Kydæn moaned, loud and low, reaching up to grab his thigh with one hand while the other slipped between her legs. That _sound_ came again, of Kydæn’s fingers desperately thrusting into her own cunt, and Cullen completely disregarded his momentary hesitation about continuing. He slid lower in the chair, giving Kydæn easier access to his cock, which she took greedily. The new position also gave him a place from which he could really _thrust_ up into her and _watch_ as her lips stretched over his girth. Cullen was gentle, at first, letting Kydæn have her few moments of control.

And then, when he could feel the burning in his blood and the thunder in his ears reach a crescendo, he put both of his hands on the back of her head and pu-u-u-ushed her down, lower, lower, lower, until there was no more of his prick to push into her mouth. Kydæn moaned, sweetly and softly, her voice muffled by Cullen’s cock halfway down her throat. The sound translated only into vibrations around his cock and he seized up in pleasure. Her tongue pressed against his cock and she moaned anew, struggling to try and get more of his cock into her, even though there was no more for him to give her. Cullen held her in place, trying to memorize the feeling. Words tumbled out of him before he could catch himself

“I’m going to fuck your throat until you can’t talk, Kydæn. I want you to have to rasp our your next fucking report because I am not going to be gentle this time.”

Kydæn nodded frantically, and he sighed as he watched both of her hands fumble with the laces of her _own_ breeches so that her fingers could reach where his cock could not be. His first thrust was experimental, to see if she could handle it, and to test his footing. A slight adjustment of how he was sitting, better to give him a vantage point on where his cock vanished into Kydæn’s willing, waiting mouth, and then he was pushing her down as he thrust _up_. He grunted when he felt her throat undulating around the head of his prick, torn between wanting to throw his head back again and his need to watch her mouth finally do what he had ached for it to do for months.

“You look so _good_ taking my cock like this, Kydæn. Maker, your mouth looks beautiful wrapped around me. Y-yeah, suck me like that, Kydæn.”

He burned with embarrassment to hear those words coming out of his mouth but Kydæn moaned her encouragement, driving herself onto his prick harder with every filthy nothing. That just – that wouldn’t do. Cullen’s hands tightened on the back of her head, he double-checked his footing, and then, he arched his hips up off the chair he was sitting in and went to truly fucking her throat.

He would have made the same movements if it had been her cunt wrapped around his prick, but this was her _mouth_ and it was so much _better_ than he could have ever hoped for. Cullen held her steady and fucked her. His eyes never left the spit-slick ring of her lips and he watched, desperate and aching as his cock pumped **in** and **out** of her mouth. Maker, he was really doing this. He had his cock shoved all the way into Kydæn’s mouth. She was drooling spit everywhere, and dripping her own arousal onto the floor of his office, and swallowing his cock damn down to the root.

Cullen cursed floridly as his orgasm finally hit, snapping his hips up, and shoving Kydæn’s face down so he was fully seated in her mouth. He came hard, emptying months of _need_ for that particular act into her waiting throat. Kydæn swallowed as much as she could, her throat squeezing more out of him before, finally, he shuddered and let her rise up off his cock.

His cum painted the inside of her mouth – overflow that she had not been able to swallow immediately, and Kydæn clambered back into his lap to give him a good, long look at how the inside of her mouth looked after he was finished filling her up. His cock jumped up, roused to attention by the sight of Kydæn rolling her tongue around her mouth to collect any remaining drop of his cum before swallowing.

Cullen watched the bob of her throat, transfixed. He had _just_ come, so the valiant efforts of his cock to harden were mostly for naught just then.

“Cullen,” Kydæn rasped, her voice raw and rough as she rocked her hips against his, fruitlessly seeking the friction her fingers could not give her enough of. “ _Vhenan_ , please. Commander. I – _need_.”

Well, that certainly did it for his cock.

He picked Kydæn up out of his lap, turned her around, and then pushed her up against his desk, bending her forward with a firm push between her shoulderblades. There was a moment of resistance, where she pushed back and Cullen was struck with the thought that perhaps he had pushed her _too far_ with that little action, but then she bowed over his desk, over the paperwork he had no need to finish anymore.

He jerked her breeches down around her ankles, nudged her legs apart as far as he could manage to do with her legs still bound and pushed two of his fingers into her, just to make certain that she was wet and loosened enough for him to not hurt her. The entirely un-Inquisitorial sound Kydæn made at being denied his cock, and the way her cunt clenched around his fingers made it very clear that she was very willing for him to get _on_ with it.

The first thrust into her cunt made her babble endearments in Common. The second dropped the restraint on her Dalish accent, making her Common soft and lyrical. The third had her forgoing Common entirely, leaving her fumbling for purchase on his desk and howling Dalish into her arm. Cullen tightened his grip on her hips and set the same brutal pace he had just been using on her mouth and throat and Kydæn screamed his name as she scrabbled for purchase on his desk.

“Come for me, Kydæn. Come on my cock and let all of Skyhold know that’s exactly what’s happening right now. I wanna hear you use that pretty mouth of yours to scream my name.”

“C-C _ullen!_ ”

Her cunt clenched down on him and he grit his teeth against the second orgasm of the night. It was no more intense than the first, it was just so _soon_ after it that Cullen felt more than a little wobbly as he withdrew from Kydæn. She was slower to move, pushing herself up off his desk (oh that was another image he was never going to get out of his mind) and bending over (another one) to pull up her breeches. He could already see the beginnings of his cum start to drip from her cunt (a third) and she fumbled with the laces on her breeches for only a moment before giving up and turning to him.

“M’not leaving tonight, Cullen,” Kydæn slurred, her voice still sounding overtaxed. She was trying for the same sort of tone she used when she made decisions about where the Inquisition was going and what they were going to do next, but it came out muffled and tired.

He smiled at her, reaching up to wipe a line of spit from her chin. She blinked at him, smiling vacantly.

“Of course not, Kydæn. Come up to bed.”

Kydæn nodded, rubbing her eye with the heel of her palm. She reached her other hand out for his own, and he took it gladly, pulling her hand up to his mouth so he could press a kiss to her knuckles. She huffed at him and pulled him towards the ladder that lead up to his bed. He followed behind her, watching carefully to make sure she did not stumble or fall.

She went up the ladder first, and he followed. They both stripped out of their clothes, Kydæn leaving hers in a chaotic heap, along with her smalls and her boots, and Cullen folding his neatly beneath his armor stand. She wriggled into his bed, mumbling Dalish at him, reaching her hands out for him until he slid into bed next to her. Kydæn curled into his embrace, and kissed him softly, her mouth pressed against his, like he had spent too much time imagining before all of this.

He, in the days and weeks and months to come would still be driven to distraction by her mouth. Especially because she took to the habit of wearing lip colors that were dark and decadent, which never helped Cullen’s ability to concentrate. But even his distraction and the attention he paid to her lips and mouth could not distract him from one simple truth that carried him throughout the rest of their lives:

Maker, he loved her.


End file.
